


A Faint Reflection

by mareyshelley



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wishverse (Once Upon a Time), Wishverse Rumbelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28267854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareyshelley/pseuds/mareyshelley
Summary: Belle has no idea how she ended up outside the Evil Queen’s tower, with a note telling her to find her happy ending, but she isn’t going to fall for any more lies. As much as she wished to be free, she knows that none of it is real.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 53
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

Nightmares had plagued her ever since her first nights alone in that tower. She would be in the dark, alone and hopeless. Sometimes Regina would come to taunt her, or the curse itself would sweep through the tower. The worst nightmares, the ones that were worse even than Regina’s real visits and taunts, were the ones where _he_ came. He would enter the tower with just a wave of his magical hand, but he wouldn’t help her. He knew she was there, and he wouldn’t help her.

No matter how many times Belle woke up and reminded herself that they weren’t real, those dreams were the worst. They ate away at her dwindling hope of a real rescue, until the dark nights turned into years.

The Evil Queen had told her that he wouldn’t come for her. She’d told her about a curse that would make him forget her, if he hadn’t already, and it would make Belle forget him. She met those threats with quiet defiance, never crying or arguing. All she had to offer was silence, and a small amount of doubt that what Regina threatened was actually possible. She’d expected the curse to be something awful. Belle couldn’t exactly say what she thought _awful_ would look like, but she’d expected something even worse than being locked in a tower for two years.

She hadn’t expected the curse to take her to the shores of a lake.

Belle woke on the pebbled ground, still in the dress Regina had given her. Cold water lapped at her feet and soaked into the dress’ hem.

Blinking against the sun, Belle shielded her eyes and rolled onto her back. It’d been so long since she’d seen daylight. Years. The temptation to stay there and enjoy the warm light was almost overwhelming, but something else caught her attention; something that crinkled under her back as she moved. Frowning, she reached behind herself and pulled out a folded sheet of crisp, white paper. Odd. It was nothing like the parchment she’d seen in her father’s castle, or Rumplestiltskin’s.

She unfolded it, and in a strange blue ink were two simple lines;

_I’m sorry I took your happy ending. Wait here and find another._

She turned the page over, but that was all. If she was right, and Regina had enacted the curse, then the last thing she wanted to do was wait around for whatever the mystery note promised. There were no happy endings with this curse.

Frustrated, Belle tried to sit up and look around. Nothing seemed out of place or unusual. The Enchanted Forest surrounded the lake, with mountains beyond that in the distance. The same mountains that held the Dark Castle. Belle shook the thought away and hid the note in the front of her dress. _Something_ had to be wrong for her to be there. The curse wouldn’t take her so close to those mountains just to be kind. 

She heard voices then, coming along the shore. Belle ducked and crawled into the tall grass at the edge of the forest. She kept low, but lifted her head just enough to see two women walking and talking. They stopped, and Belle narrowed her eyes. One of them had a beautiful white gown and cloak, but the other dressed in all black. She shuffled forward to try to get a better look, and froze.

 _Regina_. Her clothes may have been strange and her hair may have been shorter, but it was undoubtedly her.

That gave her all the proof she needed that nothing good would come of her staying there. She needed to leave that place and find shelter by herself.

Belle crawled deeper into the grass, scraping her hands and knees as she went, until she could no longer see the Evil Queen and princess. Then she ran.

* * *

Her shoes were not made for running. Every root and thorn stabbed into the soles of her feet as she disappeared into the forest. Her dress fared no better. The long hem, still heavy from water, snagged at brambles.

She wasn’t dressed for the woods.

Shelter would be difficult to find. Belle didn’t know that part of the Enchanted Forest, and she saw no roads as she hurried along, knocking branches out of her path. Perhaps that was for the best. She was more likely to be spotted if she came across the road. Being deeper in the woods, hidden amongst bracken and great oaks, was much better. Once she found shelter, she could rest and come up with a plan.

The way she took through the trees led her to a narrow stream. It ran downhill towards the lake, a gentle trickle over moss-covered rocks and fallen twigs. She looked up the hill. If anyone lived in the forest, she would find them by a river.

Lifting the hem of her dress, Belle trekked up the slope, grasping trunks and branches to pull herself up. She crested the hill and stumbled to her knees. Twigs dug into her skin, but she didn’t care. She would keep moving, away from the shore she was dumped on, and find somewhere safe. Away from Regina and her plans.

A small cottage sat just a short way from the edge of the hill, nestled between the trees with a small vegetable patch. Smoke rose from the chimney in the thatch roof, but Belle couldn’t see anyone outside. She crept through the bushes, keeping a distance from the cottage. Around the back, hung along the side of the allotment, was a row of washing. It wasn’t exactly the shelter she’d been hoping for, but there was an old cloak and petticoat. At least she would be warm.

Belle waited, crouched around the back of the little cottage, and watched. Since there was smoke, there had to be someone inside, but no one passed the windows or came to the door.

Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to run across the clearing. Keeping quick but quiet was difficult with twigs snapping and leaves crunching beneath her feet, but she still tried. She ducked under the windows, crept up to the washing line, and--

“You don’t want that cloak, dear. It’s very old.”

Belle jumped and whirled around.

Standing in the back doorway of the cottage, an elderly woman in a knitted shawl smirked at her. She had a slight hunch to her shoulders and wild white hair, but a keenness in her eyes that told Belle she wasn’t about to get away with stealing that cloak. And she didn’t want to, not now she knew who she’d be stealing from.

The woman looked her up and down, then stepped back into the cottage.

“Come on,” she said, disappearing inside.

Belle hesitated, but thinking of no good reason to run from the elderly woman, she followed her.

“You must be desperate to be this deep in the woods,” the woman said, filling a kettle from a bucket of water. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, I’m--” She wasn’t certain what she was. She was certainly lost, and on the run from Regina, and in trouble, but it was too much to explain without making herself suspicious.

Belle sighed and shrugged. “I’m trying to find my husband.”

A lie couldn’t hurt now, not when it would keep her safe.

The woman set the kettle over the stove and eyed her. Belle glanced around the cottage, avoiding the woman’s watchful eyes. It was a modest home, with only a little space and bed tucked up the corner behind a curtain. Dried herbs hung from the beams across the ceiling, and a small fireplace threw flickers of orange light and shadow across the room. 

“That dress doesn’t look very warm,” the woman said, apparently accepting her lie. “Come sit at the table and we’ll warm you up with a cup of tea.”

Belle nodded and quietly sat at the table. Her back faced the fireplace, and the warmth from it seeping into her back. It would help to dry the dress, but she was still in need of something more substantial to wear.

The woman moved around the stove, collecting cups and cutlery.

“This husband of yours,” she said, setting the cups onto the table. “Does he often disappear without telling you where he’s going?”

“He used to,” Belle said. The woman hummed disapprovingly and checked the kettle.

Belle worried her hands together in her lap, glancing about the woman’s home. The smell of it reminded her a little of Rumplestiltskin’s tower. The dried herbs; the scents of fire and things brewing; magic.

Belle paused.

“Do you know magic?” she asked.

The woman stopped, caught between opening a box of herbal tea, and turned to face Belle cautiously.

“I’ve… heard talk of the Dark One,” Belle said carefully. The woman’s eyes flicked narrowed. “I just thought that--”

“He hasn’t been seen for nearly thirty years,” the woman interrupted, returning to her tea. “There’s no need to turn to his brand of magic anymore.”

Belle shook her head, frowning. “Thirty years?”

The old woman smiled and nodded, and added her tea to the teapot.

“Not long before the Evil Queen herself was captured. That’s a few years before you were born, I’d say.” She set the teapot on the table in front of Belle and smiled. “It isn’t really your husband you're after, is it?”

Belle bit her lip. She’d always been a terrible liar.

“No,” she admitted.

The woman nodded knowingly and sighed.

“Most girls your age come to me for the same reason. That isn’t something you’d ever want to go to the Dark One for.” She put her hand on Belle’s shoulder. “Does he know you’re here?”

Belle shook her head, but it was more out of confusion now than answer. “The Dark One?”

The woman laughed and waved her hand. It was a croaky, rattling sound, but there was still something warm about it. It wasn’t an awful laugh.

“Your husband,” she corrected.

Belle’s frown only deepened with her confusion. Her mind muddled the two men together -- husband and Dark One -- but he hadn’t left her in a state. Not really. It was Regina’s meddling that had truly left her alone.

“No,” she answered. “He has no idea where I am.”

“It’s best to leave it that way,” the woman said sympathetically, patting her on the shoulder.

She left Belle’s side to add the boiled water to the teapot, and Belle watched her silently. It was possibly the woman was some sort of healer, and she assumed there was something that Belle wanted a cure for. All she really wanted was far simpler, and the woman was already offering her both.

“How long has it been?” she asked Belle.

That was another question she couldn’t truthfully answer. To her, it had been only two years, but the woman thought it had been thirty. Belle didn’t doubt her memory. As old as she seemed, she certainly had a keen eye.

She would have to lie again.

“A little over a month,” she said quietly.

The woman nodded and returned to her box of tea. It sat amongst other boxes, all of similar sizes but made of different woods, with different symbols burnt or etched into the front. She chose a box with curved edges, and tipped three teaspoons of it into a small, cloth bag. Belle had no idea what sort of tea it was, or what herbs went into it. The woman handed her the bag, and she caught the sweet scent of the blend inside.

“Drink one a day, as soon as possible. Three cups should do the trick,” the woman instructed. “I’ll make you the first myself.”

Belle stared at the bag. Tea would be fairly useless to her in the woods, but despite being slightly odd, it was still a kind gesture.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, placing the bag in her lap. What she really needed was a cloak, or a bag.

The woman finished preparing the tea, and sat with Belle for a little while before returning to her work. The afternoon gradually grew greyer and colder. Belle was glad for the fire, which had mostly dried the hem of her dress, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting across to the window. Evening drew near. She was no closer to figuring out what to do, or where she could go. She couldn’t stay with the old woman indefinitely.

They ate a simple meal of soup to stay warm, made from the vegetables grown just outside, and the woman poured her a cup of tea from the same curved box.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” the woman asked as Belle sat to sip her tea. It had a bitter aftertaste which was only just masked by a zest of citrus and a dash of honey. She wouldn’t be able to find any honey if she wanted to make it for herself.

“No,” she admitted, staring into her cup. Bits of herbs bobbed around inside. “I should return to him-- my husband, soon.”

In truth, Belle didn’t think she would return to the Dark Castle or try to seek Rumplestiltskin out. If he hadn’t been seen in this world, whatever the curse had created, then the castle was likely to be empty. And if the curse _had_ created this world, then any version of him she found wouldn’t be her Rumple. He would be designed to hurt her.

The woman nodded, her wrinkled lips pushed into an unimpressed line. Whatever husband she imagined Belle had, she wasn’t pleased with him.

Later in the evening, she offered to make up a bed for Belle by the fire. She apologised for placing her on the floor, despite covering it with thick blankets and giving her a pillow. It would be better than whatever shelter Belle could find for herself outside in the woods, but she couldn’t tell the old woman that.

She stoked the fire one last time, and retired to her own bed behind the curtain. The fire threw out a soft, flickering glow across the kitchen. Belle curled up into a ball, still wearing the same blue dress, and tried to settle her mind long enough for sleep. It didn’t come easily. Her thoughts often wanted to drift back to Rumple, and what could have possibly freed her from the Evil Queen’s tower. Thirty years was a lot of missing time. Only magic could have done something like that, to make people _think_ it had been thirty years. 

During the night, Belle dreamt of the tower and Rumplestiltskin coming to save her. He was angry and wild and didn’t look at all like himself. He ranted about her being dead and told her that their realm wasn’t real. When she awoke, to grey morning light peeking into the cottage, and smouldering embers in the cold fire grate, she knew her chances of ever seeing him again were dim.


	2. Chapter 2

The old woman wouldn’t let her leave empty-handed. As soon as she awoke, she gave Belle a breakfast of porridge and made sure she had her tea. She watched Belle carefully from the fireplace, where she sat stoking the fire.

The tea was just as bitter as the day before. Even the large dollop of honey couldn’t conceal the aftertaste, but Belle drank it all without complaining. The woman was helping her. It would have been rude to disparage her tea blend after all she’d done.

“Now,” the woman said, rising from the hearth. Her bones cracked and Belle winced. “Make sure that husband of yours takes better care of you.”

“Yes,” Belle said quietly.

“And take this.” The woman bundled a large roll of something brown and woollen into Belle’s arms. She recognised the pattern immediately. The brown, finely spun wool, the darker cloth hem. Belle unfolded it and held up the shoulders.

“Your cloak?” she asked, gripping it tight.

“It’s much too cold to be wandering around the woods in _that_ ,” the woman said disapprovingly.

Belle looked down at herself. The long slit up the side of the dress revealed most of her right leg. It was more like an underskirt or a nightgown than an actual dress. The cloak wouldn’t only keep her warm on her search through the woods, it would also cover her more modestly than Regina’s dress allowed.

Throwing it around her shoulders, Belle clasped it at the neck and slipped the pouch of tea into a worn inside pocket. As simple as it might be, it was a very generous gift; one Belle wasn’t certain the old woman could afford.

“Why are you helping me?” Belle asked while the woman searched through her kitchen drawer.

“Girls come to me for help,” she reminded Belle. “People come to me for help.” She pulled out a small knife, similar in size and shape to a butter knife, but with a dreadfully sharp point. “And I help them.”

Belle shook her head, stepping back as the woman held the knife out to her by its bone handle.

“But this is too much,” she protested, reaching up to unclasp the cloak.

“Nonsense,” said the woman, pushing the small dagger into her hands. “Take this. These woods are not safe to be walking through alone.”

Hesitantly, Belle took the knife and nodded. There wasn’t much more she could say, and a knife would certainly be useful. She tucked it into the pocket with her tea and let the cloak fall around her.

The woman bid her goodbye after that, and Belle left feeling heavier than when she’d arrived the day before. She shouldn’t have taken the old woman up on her hospitality. She should have walked the other way when she found the cottage. It would have meant sleeping on the bare ground, exposed and cold, but at least she wouldn’t have taken so much from someone who had so little.

Ducking under branches and trying to lift her cloak from the muddied leaves, she followed the river upstream.

Perhaps it was part of the curse. Regina wouldn’t want Belle to live a simple life. A life on the run, alone in the woods, with only the memories of those she loved, sounded like a curse-worth punishment. But something about it still didn’t feel right. She wasn’t supposed to remember anything, Regina had told her that much. Belle wasn’t supposed to remember Rumplestiltskin or be aware that there even was a curse.

This was a world where she _did_ remember him; a world where Regina had been defeated and Rumple had disappeared decades ago.

 _Thirty years_.

It was impossible. She couldn’t have been locked up for thirty years. Even for Regina, keeping someone imprisoned for so long seemed too cruel. No, it had to be the curse. The note, the promise of a happy ending that would never come, in a world where Rumple didn’t exist, was Belle’s curse. The worst thing of all wasn’t that he was gone, but that she was unable to grieve. She didn’t know what had become of him. She hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, or to right what had happened between them. He was just gone and that was that. Nobody cared.

All Belle could do was keep walking, keep searching for somewhere to stay, and form a plan for what to do now.

The river veered off to her left, up a rocky climb. She stared up the slope, from beside where the water fell and sprayed across the rocks. Any towns in that part of the woods would undoubtedly be beside a water source. The Enchanted Forest was vast. She needed to know where she was in order to stay safe. If she didn’t climb the rocks, she would lose her best chance of finding her bearings.

Sighing, Belle lifted her dress and tied it in a knot beside her thigh. Water splashed at her bare legs, chilling them, and she braced herself against the cold. The rock face had been worn smooth by the waterfall, but there were many jagged points for her to grasp on to and scrabble her way up. Her legs and hands got wet, and she lost her footing more than once, but eventually made it to the top. She grasped at the grass and roots and fallen branches, anything she could get her hands on to help pull her up, until finally she was lying at the top, out of breath and staring up at the sky.

The roar of the waterfall was a little quieter at the top. Belle could hear the trickle of the river further upstream, before it reached the edge of the cliff. And something beyond that. A clatter of something familiar rolled along the forest nearby. She lifted her head, and caught the top of a prison carriage over the bracken and brambles.

She jumped up and hurried after it. The knot in her dress came loose as she ran along the edge of the road, ducking behind the trees and brush. She didn’t want to be seen. The carriage clearly had two people sitting in the cage at the back, and Belle tried not to look at them. Whoever they were, she didn’t want to draw their attention. But a carriage meant people, and a prison carriage meant they were being taken _somewhere_. She needed to know where.

It didn’t take long to find out. There were no junctions in the road, only a few footpaths that led off into the woods. The road itself took the carriage and Belle straight to a town, which the river cut directly through.

Belle hung back in the trees, watching as the carriage drew to a halt outside a row of wooden buildings. People moved around it. Some glanced at the prisoners inside, others ignored them and went about their business. The streets were crowded. It would have been easy to pass through without drawing any attention to herself, but she still waited. She waited for the driver and sheriff to dismount from the carriage, and waited while the sheriff disappeared into one of the buildings. Then she moved. 

Walking up the road as though she hadn’t been hiding in the trees, Belle joined the throng of townsfolk. They passed in and out of shops, collecting whatever they bought in baskets. A few stalls had been set up along the roadside, selling wools and cloth or baked goods. The sweet smell of the baking filled that part of the street, and she wished she had money to buy something. She would need it later.

Hesitating, Belle glanced towards the road out of town, and the carriage still rested along it. She should leave. She had no money and nothing to trade. A job wouldn’t be too difficult to find, she had experience as a maid, but she had nowhere to stay and she didn’t want to throw herself onto the kindness of strangers again. The best she could do was find somewhere to sit and think. The streets were too busy for that, but she caught sight of a tavern sign with a white dragon, hanging above one of the doorways up ahead.

Winding her way through the crowds, she kept her head low and hurried to the door.

“Belle?”

Despite how careful she wanted to be, she couldn’t help but turn at the sound of her name being called. She spotted the prison carriage and paused.

“It _is_ you.” Regina seemed far too happy, and a little amazed, to see Belle free. If she ever saw the Evil Queen up close again, she would have expected her to gloat, or to be angry that Belle was outside of her tower.

Her hand went to her pocket, and the handle of the knife inside. Something didn’t feel right. Regina had powerful magic. If she wanted to be free of that carriage, she would have left by now.

Regina moved forward, to kneel beside the man in the cage with her. Belle took a step back.

“How are you still so young?” the Queen asked.

“Forget about that,” the man said, turning to face Belle himself. Regina glanced at him cautiously, as if she didn’t quite know how the man would react. Or she was already surprised at his reaction. “You said so yourself,” he explained. “This land isn’t real. ”

Belle frowned, looking between the two of them. So this world _had_ been created. Regina had cast her curse and now everything was all wrong.

The man looked at Belle and smiled.

“Perhaps you could free us, my lady?” he asked.

“After what _she_ did to me?” Belle rebuked, gripping the hilt of her knife.

Regina held up a placating hand to both herself and the man.

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me. I wasn’t… I’m not that person anymore,” she insisted.

Belle pressed her lips together. She should have turned around and walked away, but something about Regina did seem different. Perhaps it was the effects of her curse; something she hadn’t expected.

“But I know where you can find someone you might trust,” she added, brightening a little. A spark returned to her eyes. The same spark Belle remembered seeing when she gleefully shared her terrible plans. “If you free us from here, I’ll tell you where he is and I promise you’ll never have to see us again.”

Her grip loosened on the knife. “He hasn’t been seen for nearly thirty years.”

Regina’s smile bloomed wider.

“Until now,” she said.

Everything in her told Belle that she should turn away and leave. She couldn’t trust a thing the Evil Queen said. But there was still a part of her that kept her on the spot. She couldn’t turn away if there was a chance of finding him.

“Tell me where he is first,” she bargained. “And if it’s possible for me to find him, I will release you.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, but Regina beat him to it. Which was just as well. He looked rather dubious about Belle’s offer.

“I freed him,” she said. “And if I know him, the first thing he’ll do now that he’s free,” she leaned closer to the bars, “is try and find you.”

Belle shook her head. “That doesn’t tell me where he is.”

“He’s nearby.” Regina sat back and straightened her shoulders. “Do we have your word you’ll open the gate?”

Biting her lip, Belle checked the street. No one knew who she was. Few people cared that she was talking to the prisoners, and none of them could know who they spoke of.

Making up her mind, Belle raised her chin to the carriage and released her knife.

“You have my word,” she agreed. “Now where is Rumplestiltskin?”

* * *

A deal. Of course it would take a deal to draw him out. He wouldn’t have trusted Regina enough to believe that Belle was alive and looking for him, but if he heard that someone wanted to make a deal, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

That was the plan, at least.

Belle waited in the tavern, the one with the white dragon above the door. Evening had begun to draw in, and as the streets grew darker and emptier, the tavern grew louder and busier.

People gathered around the bar, others sat squashed around tables that were too small for their large parties. All of them laughed and drank, while a card game played out on one of the crowded tables. The whole place stank of alcohol and the soot from the fire.

Belle huddled in a dark corner, with her hood pulled over her hair, hoping not to be noticed. She toyed with the knife in her pocket, and took small sips at a mug of ale. She didn’t really like it, but it gave her something to do, and hopefully made her look less suspicious.

It took longer than she would have hoped, but Rumplestiltskin loved his dramatic entrances. He enjoyed keeping people alert, on their toes, before he finalised any deal and ripped the rug from beneath their feet. Belle knew better than to fall for his showmanship and tricks. She could wait.

“When I heard talk of a pretty maid in need of my help...”

The sudden voice from the shadows made her jump, no matter how familiar it was. She turned to the spot on the bench that had been empty a moment again, and froze.

“I didn’t expect her to be _you_ ,” he finished.

Belle shook her head. She didn’t recognise him at first. The dark hid his face, but she knew his silhouette; those high collars and that wild hair.

He didn’t move any further from the shadows, but the firelight caught in his eyes, and she felt the weight of him watching her.

“Rumple?” she hesitated. 

It couldn’t really be him, a voice still tried to reason with her. It was the curse. Even the Queen’s companion had said that this world wasn’t real. She couldn’t trust the Queen, no matter how desperately she wanted it to be real.

The curse had taken her to another realm, or a dream world, where it would toy with her love and then use him to hurt her.

He couldn’t really be Rumple, but at that moment she didn’t care. Belle flung herself across the bench and threw her arms around his neck. His body went rigid, but he caught her about the waist and Belle allowed herself a moment to enjoy the warmth of his hands on her. Then he pushed her away.

“I don’t know who told you to take this form, dearie, but you were ill-advised,” he warned. His voice made her shiver. It was too close to how it had been when he’d thought her in league with Regina; before he shouted and threw her in the dungeon; before his voice turned cold and distant.

Rumple searched her face, leaning closer out of the shadows, and she did the same to him. He looked just the same. Even in the dark, with firelight flickering over only half his face, Belle recognised the sharp features and suspicious eyes. She couldn’t help but stare at him in return.

“Who sent you?” he wondered.

Belle leaned back into her original spot on the bench. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, how troubling,” he pouted in mock sympathy, before his face twisted and he showed his teeth. “And convenient for _them_.”

His voice, she realised, wasn’t exactly as it had been. That was the one thing about him that was off. It was deeper somehow, gruffer. He almost growled at her now, with a thicker accent than was there before.

_This is the curse. None of this is real._

“What is this?” Rumple asked, reaching for something.

He plucked up a little pouch from the bench between them, and Belle patted her hand against her pocket. She held her breath. She couldn’t say for certain why, but she didn’t want him to have it.

“That’s mine,” she insisted, grasping for it. Rumple held it out of her reach, over his head, and put his other hand on her shoulder to keep her away. His smirk, that teasing, childish, infuriating thing, made her frown.

“You’re awfully fond of an old pouch,” he observed, his accent changing again. He pulled open the pouch’s strings, never taking his eyes from hers. “Whatever could be inside?”

He peeked in at the dried herbs, and stilled. His smile weakened, no longer jovial and mocking, and disappeared entirely when he met her eyes again. She might have thought it too dark for him to properly see the tea blend, but his reaction left no doubt in her mind that he had.

As quickly as he’d snatched it away from her, Rumplestiltskin tied the pouch and handed it back. Belle took it gratefully and tucked it into her pocket. His fingers rubbed together, as if touching it had left something unpleasant on them. Or perhaps he was nervous.

Belle opened her mouth to speak, to say _anything_ to break the sudden silence, but he beat her to it.

“You wanted to make a deal,” he said plainly. Belle nodded, and he splayed his hand out towards her, indicating her pocket. “But you already have everything you need.”

She frowned, and his face twisted into a smile that showed all of his teeth. She narrowed her eyes, but even that got nothing more than a forced giggle from him.

“I wanted to see you,” she said, hoping to get something more genuine from him; something _real_ that would prove this wasn’t a curse.

It worked, in a way. His smile slowly faded into something more thoughtful, and he tilted his head to the side. Belle held still, waiting. She wouldn’t say anything further or allow him to change the subject. She wanted to see him, and she needed to hear his reply. 

He slid closer along the bench, and smiled at her as if he hoped she would move away. She didn’t. Belle wouldn’t ever move away from him. He searched her face, and she met his eyes without flinching.

“Give me your hand,” he instructed, holding out his own palm-up.

She took it before she could stop herself. It didn’t occur to her to ask him _why_ , so she supposed it was her own fault when his magic swirled around them and took her from the tavern.


	3. Chapter 3

The Dark Castle had changed. While Rumplestiltskin looked the same as ever, the castle’s great hall was a mess. The drapes hung loose, ripped and tattered, a thick layer of grey dust coated the long table, and all of Rumple’s prized collection had been broken. Much of it lay in pieces across the floor.

 _Thirty years_.

Rumple stepped back from her the moment they arrived in the hall. He released her hand and looked about the place, taking in the damage for himself. His face gave nothing away, but his hands did. His fingers twitched and rubbed together, and Belle knew him to be as uncertain as she was.

He flicked his wrist and a fire roared up in the hearth. The flames lit the room more than a fire its size should have; highlighting the extent of the damage in a warm, flickering light.

Leaving her side, Rumple walked across the room to where his wheel had once stood. She followed him at a distance. It was only as she rounded the table that she realised his spinning wheel was still there, smashed and lying on the ground. He righted it, and Belle resisted the urge to run and help him. He didn’t need her help. The wheel left behind several spokes and smaller bits she didn’t know the names of, but he was able to stand the main frame of it upright.

She glanced around, wondering if she should pick up some of the other pieces.

“What happened here?” she asked, edging closer.

Rumplestiltskin ignored her and Belle frowned. He continued to poke at his wheel, as if it was the most important thing in the room. Belle could only tolerate so much from the curse. Rumple not trusting her was nothing new, no matter how much it hurt, but him ignoring her was almost unbearable.

“So that’s it?” she pressed, walking up behind him.

He stopped half-way through testing the wheel, and slowly turned to face her.

“You’re not going to try and make a deal?” she added. “You don’t want to ask for anything in return for my staying here?”

His eyes flicked over her, and Belle did her best not to shrink away or feel judged. She knew she hadn’t eaten properly in a long time. She was thinner than she used to be, and she’d never had much in the way of curves to begin with. But still, she felt judged, and she worried she’d been found wanting. His eyes settled on the front of her dress, where her cloak fell open.

“What I want,” he said at length, returning to his wheel, “you won’t be willing to give.”

Belle frowned and stepped closer, reaching for his shoulder. He stilled when she touched him, but didn’t turn to her or pull away. He simply stood, still, and waited.

“Careful, dear,” he said with a deceptive calm. “I still intend to find out who you really are, and if I don’t like what I find…”

“I can’t say if you’ll like it or not,” she sighed, squeezing his shoulder gently. “I have nothing to hide.”

He half-turned to her, and although his eyes didn’t meet her face, they darted down to her stomach. Her cloak had fallen open more, and from her stomach his eyes trailed down to her legs. The dress Regina had given her concealed nothing of what lay beneath. The deep slit cut up one side of the skirt revealed her leg all the way up to her thigh.

“Are you certain?” Rumple asked.

Belle pulled the cloak around herself and stepped back.

Perhaps she should have been questioning if _he_ was someone else. He looked and walked and talked like Rumple. His whole presence, the magic that filled the air around him, felt the same. But something was _off_. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror. The reflection was clear, a moving copy of the real world, but ultimately just that. A copy.

 _That doesn’t make sense._ A curse wouldn’t create a copy of him. Belle looked him over, even more closely than before. He watched her in return, curious yet wary. She reached for his hands, and held them up to the light. The firelight flickered across the shimmering, raised skin. They looked the same. The same colour, the same shimmer, the same claws. She slid her fingers beneath his hands, under the frill cuffs of his sleeves, and felt his warm wrists.

His pulse raced. He looked and felt so real.

Belle shook her head and moved away. She had to leave that room. 

“I’m going to see how the kitchens are fairing. Perhaps I could make some tea.”

Rumple pulled his hands up to his chest, staring at her. “You’re going to drink it _now_?”

Belle shrugged and tried to smile.

“Now seems as good a time as any,” she reasoned. “Would you like some?”

He shook his head, baffled. His mouth parted once, twice, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t settle on just one answer. So he didn’t answer at all.

“Why would I drink that?” he asked instead.

Belle frowned. “You used to like tea.”

“I fear you’ll need it more than me, dearie.”

She heaved a sigh. “ _Fine._ ”

It was all she could do to stop herself from stamping her foot. She turned her back on him and marched out of the room. If he really was just a copy, his creator had decided to keep his stubborn streak. The whole castle could have been fixed and cleaned with one magical flick of his wrist. Then they could have shared her tea and talked about all the time they’d missed, but he was still too much of a coward to face her. If this was Regina’s idea of punishment, she hadn’t been very creative. Rumple had always been distrusting and unable to face her. Even now, when he so clearly _wanted_ her in the castle, he couldn’t stand to be around her.

She retraced her old path to the kitchens. The rest of the castle was much the same as the great hall. Tapestries were moth eaten, and had fallen or been ripped from the walls. The old sconces, which had once held candles and torches to light her way, had rusted and come loose. And all along the way, dirt and debris crunched under her shoes.

It must have been thirty years. She couldn’t imagine so much had decayed and fallen apart in only two, but that didn’t account for the twenty eight years she’d missed.

Many things in the kitchens needed a good clean, and the air felt stagnant and musty. Belle opened all the doors, and busied herself with cleaning while the kettle boiled. As annoyed as she was, she still prepared two teacups and set them on the tray. It took her a little longer to prepare than it used to, and she was unsurprised to find that their pantry was empty, but it gave her some much needed space to calm down.

Curse or copy, Belle didn’t want to leave his company just yet. He could tinker away with his wheel all he liked, Belle wouldn’t give in to dark magic and let him spend any more time pushing her away.

She added the full pouch of tea to both cups. It seemed a lot, but the old woman had given her enough for two drinks. Sharing that portion between herself and Rumple couldn’t hurt.

Bell returned to the great hall with a tray of tea, two teacups, and no sugar or milk. The tea would be awfully bitter without it, but that was the least of her concerns. She set it down on the dusty table with a loud clatter and looked at him.

“Come and sit down,” she said firmly.

He turned to her, feigning surprise with a hand on his chest. “My, my. How bossy. You do a very good impression of her.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, but refused to be goaded. He left his wheel, and that was all she wanted.

“I _am_ her,” she insisted.

Humming thoughtfully, Rumplestiltskin stepped up to the table beside her. His hand, seemingly without his knowledge, came up to rest against the small of her back. He studied the tray, frowning at the tea itself, and gave her a sneering smile.

“The real Belle would have added sugar,” he commented.

“The real Rumplestiltskin would know we have none,” she countered, meeting his eyes. “The pantry is empty. I’ll need to walk down to the village to--”

“The village?” he repeated carefully. “You wish to leave so soon?”

Belle shrugged, her eyes downturned. “There are many things I wish for.”

“Oh?” he murmured, brushing her hair from her face. “Like what?”

Belle shook her head. Her heart beat a little faster as he touched her. The gentle stroke of his fingers on her cheek didn’t match the hard press of his hand at her back, but both were the cause of her loss of breath.

“I wish you would believe that I’m real,” she whispered.

He studied her. The closeness and intensity in his eyes should have unsettled her, but it didn’t. Belle kept still as he searched her face and held her against him, until he found what he was looking for.

“Well, we don’t always get what we want.” Rumple finally decided.

He let her go. She almost stumbled backwards without his support, but he returned his attention to his wheel and didn’t seem to notice.

Belle frowned at his back. _Fine_.

She took the tray from the table and made to leave, but something told her to stop. She turned around to see that Rumple was watching her, and something clicked in her mind. He had been testing her. He didn’t believe she was really herself, and he had tested her.

“I will never flinch away from you, Rumplestiltskin,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him in challenge. He looked back at his wheel. “I’m going to see how my room fairs. I imagine it’ll need a thorough clean, if the bed is still intact. You can stay down here with your suspicions to keep you company.”

She left without looking back a second time. The tea tray clattered all the way up the winding stairs. She didn’t hear any movement from the great hall, and she wondered if he was listening to her leave.

Finding her old room was as easy as finding the kitchens. Despite the state of decay the Dark Castle had fallen into, everything felt familiar. It was as if he hadn’t changed a single thing after she’d left, before he left himself. Her room felt the same. She left the door open to let fresh air flow in, but the air didn’t carry the weight of dust or mildew as with the rest of the castle.

Belle placed her tray beside the bed and went to her wardrobe. Her clothes were all inside; rows of dresses and cloaks, and her worn gold gown tucked away at the end. Nothing had been removed.

She shrugged off the old cloak and took out a crumpled blue dress. The wardrobe had helped to keep away most of the dust, but something about them almost seemed too perfect; as if they’d been preserved or protected somehow.

Saving those thoughts for later, Belle replaced the embarrassingly tight dress Regina had given her. She threw it onto her old reading chair, not caring for the crumpled note she’d hidden inside. She didn’t want to read the strange hand and remember what it had promised her. There were no happy endings to be had in that world.

She wanted to focus on something familiar, reliable. The feeling of wearing her old laces again was a relief. Even after years of not wearing a proper bodice, her fingers worked through the lace quickly, as if no time had passed at all.

She ran her fingers through her hair and glanced in her looking glass. Her reflection was a fright. Her face had never looked so thin and pale, and she wondered how Rumplestiltskin had ever recognised her at all. She looked terrible.

Returning to her bed, she took her teacup from the tray and sat down. Even the bed didn’t feel too dirty or ruined. It had faded, but no moths had chewed at it, and nothing had been broken.

Belle sipped at her tea, looking about the room more closely.

Even her bedside table was the same. Beneath a thin layer of dust sat the last book she read before Rumple sent her away. Her same old candelabra, with the candles burnt down to the quick from hours spent reading at night, was placed beside it. He’d kept everything just as she had left it, and she suspected some sort of spell had kept everything together.

Or so the curse wanted her to think, or this false version of him. It was so difficult to keep her thoughts together. She’d tried so hard not to fall for Regina’s curse, and yet here she was. The Queen had reunited them and they’d never been further apart. It had to be the curse. What else could cause such a rift?

Finishing off her tea, Belle took a sip from Rumple’s untouched cup. It was dreadfully bitter, but the bite and warmth of it soothed the edges of her mind. She downed most of it in only a few, big gulps, wincing, and put his cup beside her own.

She wouldn’t return to him just yet. She’d make him wait, whilst she tried to make sense of what was happening. Rumple could play around with his wheel and sulk and accuse her of all sorts, but he would soon calm down and come looking for her. He always had.

Sighing, Belle slipped off her shoes, and lay back on her old bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Being free of the tower didn’t free her of nightmares. They followed her. She dreamt of a new prison, somewhere dark and secluded. Somewhere hot, where her skin felt aflame. She was there for so long that she’d long given up on calling out. Hidden from the world as she was, she could easily believe she’d been forgotten, but she hadn’t. Rumple knew where she was, and he hadn’t come to help her.

He never had. He never would.

The shuffling of the bed didn’t wake her. Nor did the rattle of a tea tray. It was, after several minutes of movement around her, her own stomach that dragged her from the nightmare.

Blinking against the bright morning light, Belle groaned and rolled onto her back. Her stomach cramped and her head spun, unhappy about being disturbed.

Something wasn’t right. She had felt fine the night before, and she didn’t remember climbing into bed or falling asleep. Now she was tucked in tight beneath the sheets, and a weight dipped the bed beside her. 

She peeked open an eye. Rumplestiltskin sat there, with a mixture of apprehension and confusion in his eyes. Belle sighed and squinted against the bright light of the room.

“What happened?” she asked. She hated the way her voice wobbled and grated, but he didn’t seem to notice. At least this copy of Rumple wasn’t cruel enough to laugh at her. He pressed his hand to her forehead and frowned.

“You don’t know?” he asked, taking his hand from her. Belle immediately missed the cool press of it. “You drank too much of your tea.”

That couldn’t be right. Drinking too much tea had never made her feel so ill before. It had never left her with a spritz of sweat on her brow or a rolling in her empty stomach.

Wiggling against the bedsheets, she tried to sit up, but Rumple gently pushed her back down by the shoulder, tutting.

“Do you have somewhere to be, dearie?” he teased. “Some prior engagement I wasn’t aware of?”

Belle opened her mouth, and his smile slowly returned and widened when she realised she had no good answer. No, she didn’t have somewhere to be. Even if she did, she would have felt too sick to get there.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t try to get up, Rumple offered her a cup of tea and waited patiently as she lifted her head to take a sip. The warmth of lemon and mint washed over her tongue, a blessed relief from the bad taste she had woken with. She tried to gulp down more, but he pulled it away and smirked.

“I had no idea you were so fond of tea,” he commented, as if in wonder, and set the cup on the tea tray.

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, and his smile widened.

Belle watched him and his smooth, careful movements. It irked her that he knew something that she didn’t. Tea couldn’t hurt a person. But Rumple seemed to somehow _know_ what was wrong, even if she didn’t.

She frowned and sank lower under her bed covers.

“Did the old woman trick me?” she asked quietly.

Considering for a moment, Rumple turned to face her. He sat with one leg up on the bed, bent towards her, and clasped his hands over his knee. She didn’t know how he could sit like that with such tight trousers, but she did her best not to stare or ask him outright.

“That depends what she told you was in the tea,” he said at length, searching her face.

She wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t. It was just _tea_. Why did everything have to be magical or have a hidden meaning?

“Can I have some more lemon?” She regretted ever keeping that silly little pouch of tea. She hadn’t needed it, not like she’d needed the warmth of the cloak or the protection of a knife. It was just a small sign of kindness after so long of being locked away alone. Now even that might not have been real.

Rumple brought the cup back to her lips. His hand slid behind her head, helping her to lean forward. It wasn’t really necessary, the queasiness only returned if she moved her stomach, but she let him help. At least she could trust that his tea wouldn’t harm her.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, taking the cup away.

Her stomach twisted and Belle closed her eyes.

“Please don’t mention food,” she groaned.

Chuckling softly, Rumple returned the teacup to the tray and stood up. His comforting weight lifted from the bed and Belle looked at him. He had a faint smile on his face, one that didn’t at all match how she felt. But then she supposed it meant she wasn’t too sick. He wasn’t so worried that it kept him from smiling and teasing her.

The thought made her return his smile.

“You’re in a better mood now,” she noted.

He faltered, half-turned away from her, and schooled his face into a careful blankness. “Am I?”

Her smile faded.

“Rumple?”

“You should rest,” he decided, taking the tray from the side table.

“Wait.”

Steam still rose from the teacup, and she hadn’t had more than a few sips. It made no sense for him to be leaving so soon.

He didn’t wait. Belle tried to sit, despite the sickness and fever and the way he’d tightly tucked her in, but he disappeared before she could manage it. She dropped her head back onto her pillows and groaned. She shouldn’t have said anything, but how was she to know he wouldn’t want her to comment on his good mood? He was so hard to read. She’d never found it so difficult to understand his moods before. Some things were still the same -- the teasing and showmanship, the way he hid behind it all -- but other things were all wrong.

 _A copy_ , she reminded herself. He was like a copy of the Rumplestiltskin she had known. She wondered if she was the same for him, after two years locked in a dark tower.

* * *

By late afternoon, Belle’s stomach had settled enough for her to sit up. She hadn’t eaten a thing, but hunger hadn’t yet set in. All she really wanted, other than more of Rumple’s tea, was to leave her room.

Rumple hadn’t returned, and when she stood and he didn’t magically appear to shoo her back into bed, she took her chance.

Her head swam, her stomach cramped, but she pushed past it. It all settled after a moment, into a dull thud and queasiness that she could ignore if she kept moving.

She slipped on her shoes and walked on her tiptoes; partly to avoid Rumple hearing her, and partly for the sake of her poor head. Light streamed through the whole castle, even so late in the afternoon, and she was able to see the extent of the damage now. Dust and bits of cracked paint covered the hall floor outside her room. It crunched underfoot, despite her best efforts to walk quietly. The windows were water stained and growing moss. The walls were crumbling. Even the once rich, colourful tapestries were now tattered and faded.

It all filled her with a grief similar to finding out that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been seen in years. This had been her home, of a sort, and now it had decayed and sat empty for years. It was almost like Rumple himself; a copy of something she remembered from not too long ago, but changed and lost.

She didn’t need to think to remember her way up the library steps. Her feet took her there instinctively. The grit beneath her feet stopped crunching as she climbed the stairs. The high windows, she saw when she reached the top, were not moss-covered or broken. They were perfectly clean, as was the floor and the table and her reading chaise. Everything was just as she remembered it. While her room had had some level of preservation that the rest of the castle had not, the library was preserved perfectly. All of her books were untouched, exactly as she’d shelved them years ago. Her little woollen blanket still lay across the chaise, folded just as she’d left it. 

Belle realised her mouth was hanging open and closed it.

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered, running her hand along the clear table top. Her fingers came away clean. Dust didn’t touch a single surface in the whole room.

Sitting herself on the chaise, Belle lay back and closed her eyes. As much as she longed to reread her old favourites, she didn’t think her head could stand to stare at the words for too long.

She fell asleep like that, thinking of him, but no more dreams plagued her. Nothing disturbed her sleep at all, until a light, familiar weight pressed down against her chest.

Darkness greeted her as she blinked open her eyes. A candle flickered from the side table. For just a moment, as sleep still gripped her mind, she thought she was back all those years before. When she was first in the Dark Castle, she’d spent many nights asleep on that chaise, after reading by candlelight late into the night. But Rumplestiltskin was normally in his tower, not hovering nearby as if he didn’t know whether to join her or leave her.

Sighing against the last moments of sleep, Belle smiled at him and sat up, stretching languidly. Her blanket fell from over her chest, and her smile grew. Of course he’d covered her.

“Ah, good.” Rumple stepped up to the chaise, rubbing his fingers together. “You’re awake.”

Belle hummed and lay back. He watched her earnestly, uncertainly. The sickness of earlier still lingered in her stomach, but not as severe as it had been.

“You found me,” she teased.

His lips twitched into the shadow of a smile, and his restless hand came to lie on the back of the chaise.

“In your library,” he agreed. “I should have known not even poisoning could keep you away.”

“It’s much more comfortable in here,” she said reasonably, patting the space beside her.

He didn’t immediately sit down. His eyes jumped between her face and her hand, before he made a move to carefully join her on the chaise. Belle smiled reassuringly and pulled her knees up to her chest. She’d forgotten how cold the tower could get at night. The blanket Rumple had given her was lovely and fluffy, but it wasn’t quite enough to stave off the cold. Her arms were still bare in her blue dress. 

Her blue dress. The blanket. All of it was a remnant of the life they’d once had, thirty years ago. She could almost fool herself into thinking nothing had happened in that time, but everything had. It would be naïve to think otherwise. Rumple had always been hesitant with her, to get too close or show too much, but now there was more distance between them. His large, unusual eyes never quite met hers. They would stray towards her, land on her hands or chest or lips, but never her eyes.

It wasn’t just his own insecurities that kept them apart. It was years; two years or thirty missing years, depending on who she asked.

_Thirty years._

“Where have you been all this time?” she asked, hugging her legs.

He straightened his back, and she knew before he spoke that he would fall into old habits to distract her. He’d lost his heavy coat at some point, and his red poet’s sleeves fluttered as he moved his arms.

“Locked away for the good of the realm.” His accent changed, to the posher, extravagant one he used when mocking the nobility. He even trilled the _R_ like he used to. It almost made Belle smile. It almost succeeded in distracting her from what he’d really said. almost. 

“For _thirty years_?” she gasped, scooting closer to him. His eyes dropped to the point where her blanketed toes brushed his thigh.

“Was it really thirty years?” he asked, pushing forward a twisted smile that wrinkled his nose. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Belle pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure if her smile was reassuring or unimpressed, but she hoped it was a mixture of both. Whichever feeling won over in her expression, it made his mocking smile fade. Rumple should have known, and she doubted he’d have forgotten, that his usual tricks wouldn’t work on her.

He never had been able to fool her, and it made her all the more determined to be honest with him. How else could they move forward, if not with honesty?

“The Queen locked me in a tower,” Belle said quietly, hugging her legs tighter. “For two years.”

His eyes locked with hers. “Regina?”

The intensity of his eyes, of finally having them on her, froze her. Belle started back, her lips parted, and a relief came over her. All of those sleepless nights, all those nightmares where he’d known where she was but hadn’t come for her, were just that. Nightmares played on her own fears. They weren’t reality.

 _He didn’t know_.

Dropping her knees, Belle shuffled closer still. Her legs stretched out in front of her, behind him, and she sat her body beside his, almost touching him. He looked like he considered leaning away, but after a second of wariness he turned on the chaise to face her. Belle smiled.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” she admitted shyly.

His eyes dropped to where her thigh brushed against his hip. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She could guess why his thumb and forefinger rubbed together, as if he was holding himself back from touching her. She could assume that he leaned closer unconsciously. But she wanted to know what he _thought_ , while watching the point where they touched.

“I thought perhaps you’d found another,” he said in a deep murmur.

Belle shook her head, frowning.

“Another?” she repeated, almost convincing herself that she’d misunderstood. “Why would you think that?”

His eyes snapped up and searched her face, then dropped to her stomach. She grasped her blanket and held it close. It took him some moments to answer again, and she worried at her blanket and hoped he wouldn’t say something awful about himself.

“You don’t know, do you?” he asked instead, surprising her and confusing her all at once. Her hands stopped fidgeting. 

“Know what?”

His fingers finally settled, and came to rest lightly on her thigh.

“What that particular blend of tea is used for,” he clarified. 

Belle shook her head again, ignoring the way her stomach rolled at the reminder. Rumple sneered; not at her, but at the poor old woman. It wasn’t her fault, Belle wanted to say. It was her own fault for being so naïve and not asking more questions.

“What did you and the _wise_ old woman talk about?” he asked, the words a displeased growl.

Belle shrugged hopelessly.

“I told her I was searching for my husband. I hadn’t seen him for some time.” His hand gently gripped her thigh, and she caught his eye and smiled. “She didn’t believe that. She said girls only came to her for one reason.”

“Indeed?”

She nodded. “ _Was_ it poison?”

Something in him softened. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked at her with an odd expression, something close to a smile but nothing like all the others he’d given her so far.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his hand came up to touch her cheek, but he stopped just before his skin could brush hers. “Of a sort.”

As little sense as his answer made, Belle tilted her head into his palm.

“What sort?” she pressed.

His thumb tenderly brushed her cheek, but he didn’t answer. His mouth opened, trying to find the words, but none came. Whatever it was, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. His eyes dropped to her lap, and her nerves grew.

“Rumple?”

Deciding that words wouldn’t do, or that they would do too much, Rumple said nothing at all. He dropped his hand from her cheek, and she thought he was going to pull away until the back of his knuckles brushed her abdomen. Belle held her breath. It was such a gentle touch. She could only just feel the press of it through her bodice.

“Of a sort,” he repeated, more pointedly than before.

It only took her a moment to understand his meaning, but it was a moment longer than she would have liked. He looked at her earnestly, willing her to understand, and she did. His answer wasn’t just difficult because he couldn’t find the words, but because he couldn’t bring himself to say them.

Belle shook her head, a sadness settling in her chest.

“You thought I was pregnant?” she asked quietly. Rumple kept his eyes on her stomach and nodded.

Her immediate response was to remind him they hadn’t been together for years, she couldn’t have been pregnant, but that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what had played on his mind. He thought she’d moved on. It didn’t make any sense. After all their years apart, Rumple clearly still loved her. Why did he believe _she_ would no longer love _him_?

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered, covering his hand with her own. “That would be impossible.”

A pregnancy; her ever moving on from him; none of it would be possible, and yet he’d believed it. She would have thought it silly, or foolish, if she herself hadn’t been foolish for accepting the old woman’s help.

At least her sickness had already begun to pass. The upset in her stomach wasn’t too great. It hadn’t done her any real harm, and Rumple had helped.

His eyes hadn’t left her stomach, where she now pinned his hand flat against her. He looked torn between trying not to move, and wanting very much to keep his hand where it was.

She smiled at him, and his lips twitched into a hesitant, lopsided smile in return. His thumb gently brushed her stomach. The tenderness of it, the gentleness of his clawed touch, knowing the vast magic it contained within, made her lean closer to him. It pushed her, without thinking, to sit forward and press her lips to the corner of his mouth. 

His hand stilled.

“I should return to my room,” she said quietly, pulling back. Her mouth tingled with the lingering feel of his soft skin.

Biting her lip, Belle shyly looked away, but she couldn’t contain her smile as she stood up and caught the way he looked at her. Open-mouthed, Rumple had to visibly shake himself back to his senses, before he followed her in standing.

“Are you…” he hesitated, flexing his fingers in front of his chest, “ _well_?”

“I feel much better,” she assured him, and led him to the library stairs. “I’m just tired.”

His boots tapped behind her, following with none of the hesitation he had when he spoke to her. Belle looked at him over her shoulder and they shared a smile. Despite their mutual foolishness, she decided, they would both be alright. It had taken longer than she would have liked, but they were so much closer to what could have been.


	5. Chapter 5

Time moved differently in the Dark Castle. She hadn’t realised it was so late in the year until the first flakes of snow dusted the library windows. By then, Belle’s sickness had settled and Rumple’s magic had helped to wash away the remains of the tea. She felt well enough to go outside.

After donning her cloak and boots, with the longest of her dresses, she walked through the castle gardens. A blanket of snow already covered the lawns and hedges, and the marble statues dotted along the path. The peaked roof and stone wall of a well, near the door to the kitchens, were covered entirely in snow. Belle pressed her gloved hand into it, enjoying the crisp crunch of the snow as she left her handprint.

The air around her whirled gently, and she knew before looking up that Rumple had appeared behind her.

“Put your hand beside mine,” she said with a smile, reaching back for his arm, but his hand already held something. Between his fingers, like he didn’t really want to hold it, he held a sheet of parchment.

“This is the Queen’s hand,” he pointed out, brandishing the note Belle had tried so hard to ignore. “Where did you get it?”

She dropped her hand, leaving behind her print on the well.

“It was with me,” she said, and tried to read the carefully calm look on his face. “When I woke by the lake.”

“The lake?” he asked, searching her face.

Belle nodded and told him about the shore; how she’d woken alone, found the note, and saw Regina.

“So I…” She shrugged. “I ran into the woods.”

A slight smile ticked up the corner of his mouth. She couldn’t understand why, unless he saw something she didn’t. Turning the parchment over, he gave it to her and tapped the head of the page.

“Unfold it,” he said, and she did so, frowning.

The page had been folded back on itself before being written on. She’d been so reluctant to look at the note, to even think about it, that she hadn’t noticed.

She looked up at Rumple and he nodded, encouraging her to unfold it. Block letters, in the most peculiar ink and handwriting, ran across the top of the page. Tiny flakes of snow landed over it, and Belle dusted them away before they could melt. She hadn’t seen anything like it before.

“The material and ink are from another realm,” Rumple explained as she still stared at the unusual mark. “I attempted to trace its origins, but no such place exists yet.”

“Yet?” Belle repeated.

_Seattle Police Department_

_Hyperion Heights Precinct 42_

She frowned, tilting the paper from side-to-side. Her first thought was to ask what a police department was, but that didn’t seem as important as _how_ the paper had found its way there.

“Time travel?” she suggested, only half-joking.

“Impossible,” Rumple dismissed, but he didn’t sound very sure of that. Time travel would make sense, if she had only been away from him for two years, while he’d been locked away for thirty.

Neither of them mentioned that. They didn’t need to. Their eyes met, and that was all they needed to know they’d had the same thought.

“I didn’t think any of this was real,” she admitted.

Rumple was quiet for a moment, and Belle dropped her eyes back to the paper. She read the small words over again, as if reading them several times more would help them make sense.

“This realm was created by a wish,” he said after a moment of consideration. “We’re copies of ourselves in a world where I failed and you died. Now my son is dead.”

Belle shook her head. She didn’t know how to make things better for him. She didn’t know how to make things better for either of them.

“I’m sorry, Rumple,” she whispered, reaching for his arm. He didn’t move. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“We’re copies?” she repeated gently, pulling his attention away from his dark thoughts.

“Mere,” he flicked his wrist back, almost shooing away the idea, “reflections of our real selves.”

The idea seemed to bother him, almost to the point of anger. Belle didn’t know how she felt, but it wasn’t anger. Perhaps unease, or uncertainty, but she wasn’t angry if it meant that he was a copy just as much as she was. They were still themselves.

She found herself smiling, hopeful.

“Maybe our other selves sent me here?” she said.

“With Regina’s help?” Rumple asked, unconvinced.

Belle looked at the paper with the Queen’s curling writing.

_I’m sorry I took your happy ending. Wait here and find another._

_Seattle Police Department._

“Why else would she send me?” she asked.

Rumple said nothing. He watched the note in her hands, while it fluttered lightly against a breeze. Belle held still, taking the opportunity to study his face before he noticed. If they were copies of their real selves, then that would explain why what she knew of Regina’s curse made no sense. It explained why something about Rumple felt different, whilst he also felt so familiar.

She shivered. She didn’t know whether it was from the realisation or the cold, but his eyes snapped up to her face, and he found her staring at him.

“It’s cold,” he said, turning towards the Dark Castle. “I’ll send tea to your library.”

And then he was gone. He left in his usual plume of smoke, and Belle had to trek back inside alone. She knocked the snow from her boots and cloak at the door, left them both in the hall, and made her way to the library.

Time travel. Other realms. Wishes. None of it made sense, and yet it did, in an odd sort of way. Rumplestiltskin was Rumplestiltskin. However _off_ everything felt, Belle still knew him. And she was still herself. She felt like her real self.

Rumple was already there when she reached the top of the library steps. He stood beside her chaise, by a side table with a tray of tea. He didn’t turn at her approach, and Belle could tell by the way he looked to the window, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, that he hadn’t heard her.

“I do hope that’s not more of the old woman’s awful tea,” she tried to joke, gaining his attention.

Turning to her, Rumple gave her half a smile and looked at the tea. It was a fleeting thing, a smile that was distant and thinking of other things, but she returned it all the same.

“Someone seems to have drank it all,” he recalled with feigned concern, and lifted the teapot to pour their tea. “This is a blend of my own.”

“Then it should be much nicer,” Belle said, crossing the room to her chaise. She unfolded her blanket, and he watched her. She didn’t need to look at him to know that his eyes were on her. The weight of them followed her as she sat down, covered her legs with the heavy gold blanket, and scooted over to make room for him.

“Take this off and sit with me,” she said, reaching out to gently tug at his coat sleeve.

It would be a tight fit, seating them both on side-by-side, but neither of them took up much room.

Belle leaned over to take her tea and book from the table, while Rumple slipped off his coat. He did it slowly, almost methodically, and draped it over the table in the centre of the room. She didn’t watch him. It would have only made him more nervous and hesitant, to have her eyes on him. So she opened her book, sipped at her tea -- with its subtle flavours of berries and peach -- and waited.

He sat beside her a moment later, careful and quiet, and pulled the blanket up to cover his own legs. He’d removed his boots without her noticing, and his comfort made her smile. She rested her head against his shoulder, settling in to read her book.

If nothing else, she hoped the quiet safety of the library could ease his mind. Just being in someone’s company could make a person feel better. She didn’t want him to be alone while he thought of the son he’d lost, or wondered how they’d been reunited in a world that shouldn’t exist.

After a time of quietly sitting together, sipping tea while she read and occasionally shared her favourite lines out loud, Rumple shifted. His leg brushed hers, and Belle lifted her head to look at him. She almost worried he wanted to get up.

“Who is the _hero_ in this tale?” he asked. He said the word mockingly, _hero,_ with a roll of the R, but Belle chose to ignore his teasing and answered him seriously. Of course he would be bitter about the very idea of heroism, after everything that had happened. 

“Gideon,” she reminded, holding up the book for him to see the familiar green cover.

His eyes flicked to it, too briefly for him to actually read the title, before they returned to her. His mocking smile slipped, once he realised it wasn’t going to work, and Belle took her chance to talk to him, now that he seemed ready to talk.

“I used to think--” she began, but cut herself off. It was a silly thing to bring up. She should have thought of something else.

Rumple searched her eyes expectantly. “What?”

“Nothing. I just…” She shook her head and looked down at her book. “I used to think, if I ever had a son, I’d name him Gideon.”

They looked at one another. Belle gripped her book and willed herself to hold his gaze. She wanted him to find the hidden meaning in her words, no matter how subtle they’d been. There was only one way she would ever have children now. No one else would do.

“It is a fine name,” he quietly agreed.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said with a coy smile, nudging him with her shoulder. “It would be awkward if Gideon’s own father didn’t like his name.”

His face was unreadable. For a terrible moment, she thought she might have overstepped an unknown boundary. Maybe mentioning a child, a _son_ , was too much. But then a faint smile pulled at his mouth. Something akin to hope sparked in his eyes.

They leaned in to one another. Belle closed her eyes just as they met, and the soft press of his lips touched her own. She smiled. Memories of their first kiss flashed through her mind, and she grasped his arm to keep him from pulling away again. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time, real or not.

But he did pull away, just barely. Belle opened her eyes in time to see his own tightly screwed shut, and a small patch of pink shimmered on his lips. A crackle of magic filled the air between them, tingling in her own lips. She knew that magic. She knew that look of confusion and concentration on his face.

“It worked,” she whispered. Even as he pushed against it, pushed to keep his magic and banished the brief glimpse of human skin, Belle beamed at him. _It had worked._ True Love’s Kiss had worked.

He looked to her, with his overlarge, amber eyes, and her heart skipped when he slowly returned her smile.

“Can you kiss me again?” she asked.

Rumple nodded, and that was all she needed. Winding her arms around his neck, Belle pulled him to her. The chaise didn’t offer them much space, and pulling him closer meant pulling him half on top of her, but that only made her heart beat faster. She didn’t hear as her book slid off the chaise and hit the floor with a soft thud. All she heard was the thumping of her own heart in her ears, and the shifting and creaking of Rumple’s leathers.

Magic still lingered in his touch. It sparked in his lips and the tips of his fingers, sending an excited shiver through her. He responded by deepening their kiss. His tongue flicked across her lips, and her excitement grew. This was it. This was the final acceptance of what they had and what they wanted. Neither of them hesitated in pulling at one another’s clothes. She deftly unfastened his waistcoat and he unlaced her bodice. His long fingers didn’t struggle with the ties, and she might have suspected him of using magic, had she not known how skilled a spinner he was.

His kisses moved lower, over her neck and chest, just as Belle’s own hands slid down his sides. She felt him through the silk of his shirt, his warmth and soft stomach, and felt for the laces of his trousers. His hands caught her own.

“Ah-ah,” he sing-songed. “Not yet.” The words came dangerously close to a growl, and she shuddered.

“But--”

“I have something much better in mind,” he promised, releasing her hands. She relaxed them down by her sides, trying to keep them to herself, and he smiled.

Parting her bodice, Rumple grazed his fingers over her chemise. Keeping still was almost impossible. His nails traced invisible lines over the curve between her breasts, and her chest heaved. His hands trailed lower, followed by his kisses.

She felt dizzy. His lips on her, kissing her, teasing her, tasting her, threatened to overwhelm her senses before they’d even begun.

“Don’t you want me to touch you?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he hushed gently, working his way down her body.

Having him knelt between her legs was enough to make her blush, but feeling his lips on her breast made her burn all the more. He tugged at the ribbon holding her chemise together and eased it apart. She struggled to ignore the urge to cover herself, but a hunger flashed in his eyes and stopped her. She blushed instead, and a smirk joined his appreciative look. She hadn’t known a _look_ could make her feel so flushed.

He followed the line of his gaze reverently with his fingers; gliding over her burning skin.

“My beautiful Belle,” he uttered, unable to take his eyes from her.

“Rumple…” she whispered.

“Am I the first?” he asked, and she was so flustered she could only nod. He gave a single nod in reply and lowered his face to hers.

“Then not yet,” he repeated.

Belle huffed. She’d waited for so long to touch him and kiss him. Her eagerness threatened to overflow, but Rumple appeared calm and controlled. His careful kisses down beneath her chemise, his hands brushing it aside for him to tease at her breasts, were all so deliberate. She didn’t know how he did it.

He lingered over the swell of her breast, tracing it with the tip of his nose. Belle looked down at him from her pile of cushions, and brushed his hair from his face. He took the point of her breast into his mouth, and sucked and licked and added his teeth. Belle’s head dropped back with a gasp.

His hand went to her other breast, adding gentle squeezes and caresses to what his mouth was doing to the other. She wriggled beneath him, desperate for _more_ , and he growled in approval.

“Do you like that?” he asked, lifting his mouth from her. The cool library air hit her and pebbled her burning skin.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. A smile flicked across his face, and she narrowed her eyes playfully. “Now stop teasing me.”

Putting his hand on her knee, Rumple toyed with the blue ribbon of her garter. She thought he meant to untie it and pull it off, along with her stockings, but he left it be. He slipped his fingers up the inside of her thigh. The gentle touch sent frissons through her, just as his mouth had, and fuelled the growing ache between her legs. His fingers were so close to where she most wanted him to touch her. So close.

“But teasing you is so delightful,” he murmured. “Almost as delightful as seeing you like this.”

His fingers slipped beneath her drawers, and something in him shifted. Belle grasped his shoulders, panting as his fingers brushed across her folds. She’d expected more. She’d expected his hunger to break through and for him to take her. Instead, his confident smirk turned to one of awe. Belle bit her lip.

“Now?” she asked, and he nodded wordlessly.

His hands left her and her excitement took over. She kissed his lips sweetly, with a laugh bubbling in her throat, and finished unlacing his trousers. He didn’t stop her, as she thought he might, when she slipped her hands instead and took out his hard length. She desperately wanted to see him, but he held their bodies too close, even when he broke their kiss. All she could do was feel him, and give him tentative strokes that made him groan. Belle smiled.

“What are you laughing at?” Rumple asked, but he didn’t sound affronted or serious. She looked into his eyes, and saw the same amused twinkle that she knew was in her own. “Are you laughing at me?”

She shook her head, telling him _no_ , but he grasped her hand. He pushed his hips forward, using her own hand to guide him to her centre.

“No?” Rumple asked.

Licking her lips, caught between shaking her head in disagreement and nodding in encouragement, there was only one thing she could say.

“ _Yes_.”

Rumple smiled and kissed her again.

The pressure that followed between her legs wasn’t unpleasant. It didn’t hurt. His cock entered her slowly, while he held her hip and kissed her tenderly, and Belle clung on to him. She tried to focus on the kiss, on his soft lips and firm grip, until he was sheathed entirely inside her. Then her breathing quickened, in excitement and suspense, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

They paused there, hanging in the moment of being together for the first time, until Belle nodded.

Adjusting his hold on her, Rumple carefully drew his hips back and thrust forward. Her eyes fluttered shut, and their kiss broke with a soft gasp that could have come from either of them. His pace picked up; rolling his hips gently against her at first, and then faster the more sure he became that he hadn’t hurt her.

She slipped her hands around him, under his silk shirt, and held him tighter. Her fingers clawed at his back, harder and harder with each thrust. The ache building in her hadn’t gone away. It grew. Her body longed for something she couldn’t name, and Belle eagerly held on to him.

His movements drew short gasps and needy moans from her. They were the sort of sounds that would have made her blush and hide her face at any other time, but Rumple seemed to like them. They made him double his efforts and dig his fingers into her hip.

“Belle,” he huffed, their lips still close to kissing. “Sweetheart.”

He cupped the side of her neck, and Belle tipped her head back. She wanted to speak, but words had left her. Her mouth hung open, desperate for air and desperate to reach that peak. She pressed her heels into him, encouraging him to take her faster.

“So eager,” he mused, kissing the arch of her neck. His breathing became just as ragged as her own, but his actions didn’t slow or become erratic. Even as his breaths came short and fast, and warm against her flushed skin, he remained in control.

Belle brushed her fingers through his hair and twisted the wild curls in her fist. He groaned, lifting his head.

“Yes,” she whispered. “ _Please_.”

“And so proper.” Bringing his face closer, Rumple murmured into the shell of her ear, “Will you come like this?”

She hummed in answer, pressing her lips together, and nodded.

Her skin tingled. From his fingertips at her neck, it spread through her, ignoring every nerve. Even in her needy haze, she knew it to be magic. His magic sang in her veins and rushed down to where their bodies joined.

She gasped and arched beneath him.

“Rumple…”

“Say it again,” he crooned.

“ _Please!_ ”

She’d expected his magic to bring her to her peak, but it dulled. It helped her just enough to carry her to the brink, but it was his hand sliding between them that finally did that. His thumb rubbed her clit and she threw her head back, crying out.

“Beautiful,” he muttered. “So beautiful.”

His movements became less deliberate as he orgasm overwhelmed her. Coming back down, her back collapsed against the chaise, and she noticed the harder, faltering rock of his hips. Belle smiled, lifted her legs higher up his sides, and kissed his cheek.

“Come for me, Rumple,” she whispered in his ear, and it undid him.

His own climax wasn’t quite as loud as her own. He grunted, and she distantly wandered if he purposely kept himself quiet. The thought was almost confirmed when he bit down on her shoulder, silencing himself as he came inside her.

She ran her nails down his back, kissed his own shoulder, and whispered sweet encouragements into his ear.

His hips connected with hers one last time, before his full weight fell on top of her. Next time, she thought, she wanted to hear him.

He moved to lift himself from her, but Belle held him tight. She held him in place until he realised she wasn’t going to let him go, and rolled them both onto their sides. His softening cock slipped out of her, and Belle groaned. She didn’t want them to pull apart so soon.

There wasn’t much room for them both to lie side-by-side, but Belle didn’t mind. She used it as an excuse to stay close to him.

“That felt very real,” she said playfully, trying to catch her breath.

Rumple lifted his head to look at her. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the look of awe and warmth on his face, but she was. Even after lying with him, there was a part of his mind that couldn’t quite believe she was there, or that she’d enjoyed it.

“It did,” he agreed quietly.

Determined to rid him of his doubt, Belle pressed her chest to his and smiled.

“I don’t think it matters that we were created by a wish,” she went on, brushing his hair from his face. He’d already started to regain his breath, and there was a keenness in his eyes that she didn’t feel in her own sated state. His magic helped him to recover, and Belle pouted that the moment couldn’t have lasted longer.

“No?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how much time we spent apart or where we came from. We’re still us.”

His fingers drew lazy patterns across her back, while he mulled over her words. She wondered if he realised he was doing it, and didn’t want him to stop.

“There’s another version of us out there,” he pointed out, a warning.

Belle shrugged and held him tighter. “Well, I hope they’re as happy as we are.”

That dispelled the hesitation in his eyes, in his touch. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Belle beamed at the sight of it. She felt hopeful; caught between giddiness and a wonderfully sated tiredness, that he finally believed her. He couldn’t deny her love after what they’d done, after _that_ kiss. A wish couldn’t create True Love. Magic couldn’t create it. That had been entirely them, and Belle tried to put all of that love into the way she looked at him.

“Can you take me to my room?” she asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “And stay with me?”

Caught between adoration and shock, Rumple nodded and hugged her close. “Yes.”

Swirls of his magic enveloped them, just as Belle leaned in to kiss him.


End file.
